


Pancakes

by MysticPuma



Series: Sherlock One-shots [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, It just doesn't come easily, M/M, Sherlock can cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tries to make Pancakes for John on Pancake Day. Chaos ensues.</p>
<p>A request for rosaisanerd on FanFiction.net :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: There is a tiiiiny reference to Mystrade, but it's not a major part so please feel free to ignore it :P x)

It was 5am. The sun was just peaking up, beginning to bathe the London cityscape in a soft, golden light. Sherlock stared out at the beautiful scene. If John were up, he'd be mocking his appreciation of the sight, as it was not something Sherlock would be expected to like.

John had been holding in his excitement for Pancake Day all of the day before. Sherlock figured it was because, yet again, John had judged what Sherlock would think incorrectly. Sherlock himself had no interest in the holiday, however he knew john loved it, and had done all his life.

When John was young, it was only beaten by Christmas and his Birthday as his favourite day of the year. It was a family rule that pancakes were not eaten at any other time.

So, as the sun began to stream into the window, Sherlock turned and walked into the kitchen, where he had laid out the ingredients with scientific precision.

Poor Mrs Hudson had been made to stay up until gone midnight to help Sherlock tidy, but not once did she complain, too proud of Sherlock's inclination to do something nice for John to care. She wasn't stupid; she could see what was going on. Sherlock was a mystery, but Mrs Hudson had broken through a single part of the haze.

Sherlock had revealed his heart at last. Or, to put it more accurately, he had gained a heart at last.

Sherlock gulped. One of the only things that could possibly make him nervous was cooking. You'd think that his chemical skill would allow for an innate skill for cookery, due to the precision of the tack. This, unfortunately, was not the case.

He set up the frying pan, and began to mix the ingredients together, much of it splattering his silk dressing gown as the speed at which he stirred the mixture increased and decreased at an irregular and frankly ridiculous rate.

His arm was bent at an unnatural angle due to its extreme length. It took him over an hour to get the mixture to the correct consistency before he turned on the hob.

The blue flames danced quickly, flickering occasionally. Sherlock briefly noted that his usually blue silk dressing gown was now only half that colour, as it was now half covered in pancake mix.

He sighed. That was his favourite dressing gown. Ah well. He could just force Mycroft to get him a new one, for the simple price of one of his dull, government related cases, of which he often refused to help with, knowing full well that Mycroft was only asking him to do it because he was "too busy" to do it himself. Sherlock knew well enough that "too busy" did _not_ mean running the country… As did a certain D.I.

Sherlock forgot to add the oil… He only realised this when the second pancake had taken at least half an hour to remove from the pan. The first had disintegrated…

Then, he added the oil, and immediately put the mix in. This resulted in a horrific gloop, that had the look of some toxic beast. Having not realised this, Sherlock attempted to flip the "pancake". However, due to the density, and the angle of Sherlock's flick, the slop ended up landing just inches freom his foot on the kitchen floor. Of course, he just left it, reasoning that it may come in handy for an experiment later on.

It was now 7am. Five of Sherlock's attempts had already failed. Two of these had seemed to be going well, until he's flipping them. It seemed that yet again, he had created some estranged gloop, but this time it had been of a lower density, and was therefore stuck to the ceiling… Mrs Hudson would _not_ be happy.

Sherlock's fifth pancake had unfortunately found its home on his head. He had simply grimaced, wiping it off with his already ruined dressing gown to the best of his ability.

So, his sixth pancake was begun. He sighed, and poured the mix in, yet again forgetting the oil.

This time, it ended up on a plate, more of a crisp that a pancake. Sherlock then realised the lack of oil, but decided to try covering it up by loading it with jam.

He only had enough mix for two more attempts. For the first time in years, he contemplated giving up. The sun had fully risen, and he had just half an hour until John got up. But he wanted to do this. He had to show John he _could_ be nice.

So he was careful. He measured the oil, allowed it to heat up, poured in the mix, keeping the image of John's face in his mind as motivation. After twenty minutes, he had successfully made two edible pancakes. They weren't perfect, but he put them either side of the crisp pancake, smeared jam on them, and rolled them up, setting the plate with a knife and fork on a mat on the only part of the table that was partially clean.

Just as he turned the kettle on to make John a cup of tea, he heard creaking overhead.

Two minutes later, and John came down, in his dressing gown, rubbing his eyes. He looked so cute. Sherlock grinned sheepishly at him.

John froze, his arm in mid-air, and his eyes wide.

"Sherlock, what have you _done_ to the kitchen!" he cried. "Your experiments can't taking up the whole fl-" he stopped, seeing the saddened look on Sherlock's face. "What's wrong?"

"I made you breakfast…" Sherlock murmured, blushing a little as he pointed to the plate of pancakes.

"You… made me pancakes…?" John whispered, stunned. "Is that what all this is?" he asked, looking around the room. "Sherlock! Your dressing gown…" he said sadly.

"Yes…uh…" Sherlock, for once in his life, was completely speechless in John's presence.

"But… it's your favourite…"

"It doesn't matter." John blushed.

"I… thank you." He said, making Sherlock blush again. This time, John noticed. "Sherlock? You're blushing…?"

"N-no!" Sherlock cried defensively, turning away to the kettle, although it wasn't boiled yet. John smiled and walked over to him, just avoiding the gloop from earlier.

"Sherlock?" he asked.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock turned, shocked to see how close John was to him. "Oh!"

But John said nothing. He just leant up, and locked his lips with Sherlock's, whose heart beat so fast, he thought his chest might burst. The shock of it, however, meant that Sherlock had no time to react between his heart stopping and his mind melting. John pulled away.

"S-sorry…" he muttered. "I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, do shut up, John." Sherlock interrupted, before crashing their lips together again for a moment. They both grinned.

"How long have you…?" John asked quietly.

"A long time… You?" Sherlock replied, just as softly.

"Probably longer." John chuckled. Sherlock smiled.

"Eat your pancakes, John. I'll make the tea."

John grinned, and sat down to the the pancakes. Even he had to admit, they weren't bad.

"You _can_ cook…"

"I didn't want to let you down…" Sherlock murmured, putting John's tea down next to his his.

"Thank you, Sherlock…" John said, smiling.

"It's amazing what love can do to a person's skills." Sherlock said, kissing John's cheek, and leaving to change. John was left star-struck, blushing and grinning wildly.


End file.
